


Memorials (part 3)

by elcasaurus



Series: Memorials [3]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:07:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29769066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elcasaurus/pseuds/elcasaurus
Summary: To earn Sephiroth's trust, Tifa shares a difficult memory.
Relationships: Johnny/Tifa Lockhart, Tifa Lockhart & Sephiroth, Tifa Lockhart/Sephiroth
Series: Memorials [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2163168
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Memorials (part 3)

**Author's Note:**

> This memory of Tifa's does show a brief non-consensual moment. Please stay safe.

(12)  
They talked for hours. Hours and hours. They talked about their friends. They talked about Edge city. They talked about her kids. They talked about Cloud and all of their problems. They talked about the Planet. They talked about Zack. They talked about the Church. They talked about flowers. They did not, from that moment on, talk about Sephiroth. Not until the morning should have come and the stars should have faded. Tifa was vaguely aware that Aeris had the power to alter time in the memory, and had simply held it still to cherish these moments with her.

Tifa stood and dusted herself off, the same as she had done when she entered the memory. Aeris stood to give her one last hug, and held her shoulder to look up at her. 

“We’ll help you. As much as we can. But, please. Promise me. If you want out...” 

Tifa pat Aeris’s hand gently and gave her a brave smile. “Thank you. There’s a gate out there. I can leave when I want.”

“As long as he lets you.” 

Tifa straightened hers shoulders and nodded. From outside of the memory she felt a mild pulling sensation, as if he was requesting her return. Aeris closed her eyes slowly, and with it, she and the memory faded. Tifa was rested, encouraged and refueled with determination. She let herself return to Sephiroth’s prison.

Or what was left of it at the moment. 

A good half of the space had been broken by some terrible force. Glowing lines of electric energy were pulling the shattered rock back together. Pillars of stone had been ground to dust. She had spent the night gently reminiscing with a ghost. He had spent the night warring with the few things that he could touch. She shuddered at the devastation. Maybe he truly could break out of here again, if he really wanted to. 

He was lying on his back not far from her memory of Aeris, as though he had been waiting for her. He’d removed his heavy armored coat, under which was a garment she realized she’d never actually seen. It was also black, and made from a Kevlar like material designed to protect his arms and shoulders but, for some reason, leave his chest bare. It was a slick black material that fit tight to his skin, apparently designed with stretch and range of motion to work under the heavier armored coat. On his forearms and on one shoulder were harnesses for materia, and on one wrist was another materia bracelet. Tifa tried not to pay attention to how the sleek material accented the graceful power of his arms, or how without the long coat it was easier to pay attention to the line of his collarbone, or how the black harness straps drew attention to his well defined waist. He was as alluring as he was terrifying. She allowed herself a deep shiver at the base of her spine before his green feline eyes snapped to look at her. 

“Hi,” she said gently, deciding on comfort as a strategy. “Looks like you were busy.”

He rolled his eyes and resumed staring straight up into the lifestream. She sat near enough to him that he could talk to her, but not close enough that he could grab her without warning. Not that it mattered with his speed. She hugged her knees to her chest, and after a long silence where he offered nothing asked, “What are you staring at?”

He patted the ground beside him. She took the cue to mean he wanted her to join him, and so that’s what she did. She laid next to him with her hands folded on her belly, and stared with him up into the swirling abyss. It took her a long time to parse out what he was seeing. The flowing green lines were hypnotic, but whatever language they were speaking to him wasn’t one that she knew. She tried being less intent and less focused. Nothing. She sighed and looked over at him. He was as motionless as a statue, in a calm after his storm. His breath was slow and even. His hair was pooled in a silver lake over his shoulder. He had no answers for her either. Back to staring at the ceiling then. It took hours for her to notice. Once she did, it was impossible not to see. There were dark, sinister threads winding through the flow of the lifestream. Veins of corruption that reminded her of the rot of geostigma. Some of the lines pushed and slithered along whatever barrier made up their prison. Some extended far into the distant stream, infecting it at the very core of the planet.

Jenova. 

She knew Jenova had infected the lifestream, she knew it was draining on the planet, trying to steal the very life force from it. She knew as well as she knew herself how badly the planet was suffering. But to see it here, with her own eyes, was horrifying. How was she supposed to fight something that integrated into the planet itself? 

He must have caught the change in her heartbeat, or maybe it was the way she was breathing, because she felt his attention shift to her. He reached over nonchalantly and took one hand in his, and held it calmly between them. A simple gesture, as though they were old friends comforting each other. She tried not to move much and forced herself not to snatch her hand away. He had removed his gloves. His hands were as calloused and scarred up as hers were, but so much bigger that her hand felt like a child’s in his. He slowly stroked his thumb over hers, and without looking at her, said, “We had an argument.”

She didn’t turn to look at him, and tried not to concentrate on her hand. “Oh?”

He grunted in response. His lips were pressed together, his lower lip ragged from chewing on it, and his eyes were raw and red. She wondered if it was the first time he’d ever really accepted that Jenova might have fed him lies to keep him compliant. Maybe he did know, but had never allowed himself to deal with it. Whatever the reason that he had, he had chosen to do so in her presence. 

“I’m sorry,” was all she had to offer. 

“Are you?” he snapped, and the pressure on her hand was harder. She sucked in a slow breath against the pain, but held firm. 

“Yes.” 

His grip relaxed. They stayed there still, together, watching as the planet twist in its infection together. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, as though saying it was incredibly difficult. 

“For what?” 

“For staying.” He didn’t turn to her, but his eyes burned with an intensity she knew well by now. So, somehow he knew what Aeris had asked. She should have known he would. Whether he had heard the entire conversation or simply knew Aeris had invaded his prison was not up for offering. What mattered to him was the decision she had made. One that she still hadn’t come to terms with. In answer, she squeezed his hand back lightly. Her hands were strong too, from years of hard work. Hard training. Hard lessons. They were not the delicate hands of a lady, but the muscled, skilled hands of a mountain girl. None of that might help either of them escape, but at least she was here. 

“I’m sick of being lied to,” he said, looking up at his tormentor again. His tone had already shifted. His moments of lucidity were so fleeting. He gave a rumbling growl and snarled, “Shinra, Jenova, Hojo. Everyone lies.”

She had to admit she agreed with him. The old fire of anger at Shinra and everything involved with it rose from somewhere inside her. Shinra had killed her parents. Shinra had unearthed Jenova. Shinra had twisted Sephiroth into the monster that destroyed her world. Shinra and Jenova and Hojo, and everything to do with them. If he wanted a companion in misery, maybe she wasn’t such a bad fit. 

“Maybe you’re lying to me.” 

She tensed at the accusation. Before she could say anything to defend herself, he rolled over her. The hand that had sought hers out for comfort was now pinning her against the stone. Another frightened squeal escaped her as she tried to roll out from under him, but he slammed his other hand beside her head, trapping her. Her heart jack hammered in her chest. He was warm, and smelled of mako in a dizzying, enticing way. She forced herself to freeze. There were half a dozen moves that would work to get her out of this with anyone else, but after she broke out of his grip, then what? She felt like she was playing dead and hoping the bear wouldn’t eat her. 

He lit up with a mad, manic grin at having her so trapped, and he bent to whisper in her ear, “Are you lying to me, my little gift?” 

She couldn’t bring herself to answer, no. Her voice wouldn’t work to say it. She was fairly certain he would know if she was, and she didn’t think she could manipulate the memories consciously. No, she hadn’t lied to him. But having him so close, his body over hers in a mockery of a lover’s embrace, the weight of him, the feel of a strand of his hair brushing against her face, kept her from speaking. His dark, velvety laughter rumbled in her chest as he bent to brush his lip against her ear.

“Well?” he asked softly, and when she still didn’t answer, closed his teeth over her earlobe in a sharp little nip. 

That broke her out of her panic. Her free hand came up to clamp over his mouth, muffling his chuckle. Slowly, carefully, she pushed him off of her. He complied with an amused expression, letting her roll him back until she was on top of him. For a brief, terrifying moment she wondered what it would be like to touch his chest. He winked, and she dropped her hand. She sat back away from him, letting there be space enough to breath. She was still shaking. 

“I promise,” she said. “I promise you. No lies.” 

The mean giddiness dropped from his face, and he was suddenly as serious as death. His jaw was clenched in another mood of sudden anger. “How can I believe you.” 

She lowered her eyes, trying not to feel like she was cowering. She looked around at the healing prison. Already most of the gates had re-positioned themselves. There was one glowing that she had been avoiding. 

“I’ll have to earn it,” she said, and nodded to the gate. 

He glared hard at her, uninterested at the moment in the drama of her personal past. There was a point to prove there for her though, so she said, “No lies. No secrets. Not from me.” 

He gave a begrudging sigh, and pulled her to her feet. It was time to face her own demons.

(13)

“What exactly is the point of this?” he asked tensely. Tifa shifted uncomfortably on her heel. Awkward didn’t begin to cover it. 

She was fifteen years old, and a boy was in her room. Johnny. He’d said the right things, played the right games, and charmed her in the way that teenage girls can be charmed into just about anything. He was a little older and much better off, and his swagger made her think he might actually like her. Now he was on her bed with her with his hand up her shirt, shuffling and squeezing around in a deeply unpleasant way. 

Tifa felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. She wanted to turn away from this. She glanced up at him. He wore an expression of extreme distaste. At least he wasn’t enjoying himself. 

In the memory she was trying to push the boy away. It was too much. Too fast. It didn’t feel good. She didn’t like it. 

He wasn’t taking the hint. 

“Johnny and I had been dating for a little while,” she explained. “This time he decided he wanted to go further. But..” she trailed off. 

The boy tried to grab her hair and hold her down for a sloppy, inexperienced kiss. Tifa remembered this exact moment. When his slimy mouth touched hers and all she could see was red, and she exploded. 

At this point in her life, she’d been training in martial arts for seven years, and she was good. She was strong, fierce, fast. Her body was honed from both hard training and a lifetime spent on the mountain, hiking its merciless inclines, diving its coldest depths, fighting its meanest monsters. A spoiled, stupid boy trying to have his way was no match for her. She’d brought her knees up and kicked him off. He hit the wood floor with a shocked shriek. 

But she wasn’t done. 

Sephiroth’s shoulders straightened as the teenager jumped on the now helpless kid and delivered a beating she knew he’d never forget. Her fists hit him jackhammer hard, with perfect sincere form intended for men and beasts. His body bruised and twitched and broke under her rage as he screamed. She was relentless in her rage. The woman she’d grown up to be covered her face in one hand. 

When her teenage self was done she stood up, shaking. Her fists hurt. He was bleeding and crying. She could have killed him. As easily as she snapped the necks of the mountain wolves, she could have killed him. She snarled and pointed at the door. She had hurt him badly, but not enough that he didn’t take the opportunity to run when he could. He never did admit to it, but she was fairly sure he’d pissed himself during her assault.

When he left, she slammed the door, curled into a ball on her bed, and sobbed until her father came home. 

She glanced up at Sephiroth through her gloved fingers. He had a smirk, as though he was actually proud of her for almost murdering someone in her bedroom. With a red blush of shame she realized that she’d grossly mistaken how he would interpret her actions. 

He wasn’t laughing, because he was trying not to. The amusement in his voice made her nauseous. “What was that?” 

Tifa sucked in her breath and hissed, “The first time I ever really hurt someone.” 

He nodded approvingly, and shrugged. “Why is this proving you won’t lie to me?”

“I,” she closed her mouth. She remembered in vivid horror standing over Johnny, really thinking about killing him. Really thinking about stomping on his rib cage and collapsing his chest. Really crushing his jaw under her fist so he could never touch anyone with that slimy slobbery tongue again. She shuddered and wiped her eyes. Sephiroth was giving her a puzzled look. 

“This is one of the worst things I’ve ever done,” she said. 

“What? No. You’ve done much worse than this. You killed so many people when you blew up those reactors,” he teased. She tensed again. Of course he wouldn’t help. This had been a horrible mistake. 

“That was different.” 

“Why,” he said with a smirk, “Because you didn’t feel their flesh under your fists? Because you didn’t smell their blood yourself?” He snorted and rolled his eyes at her. She shuddered again. Her role in Avalanche was just as conflicting, just as terrible. Perhaps more so. But this was the moment she knew how capable of violence she was. The first time she’d unleashed her fury on a human being. 

“This is,” she swallowed as she tried again, “This is something I’m very ashamed of. Cloud doesn’t even know about this,” she said. When this had happened, Cloud had already left for Soldier the year before. Deep down she had always wondered if it ever would have happened if he had stayed. Or, worse, if it would have been his face she beat bloody instead.

“Oh, no? How did he explain his injuries,” asked Sephiroth.

“Said he fell down the stairs,” she admitted lamely. He couldn’t stop himself from chuckling at that. She looked away. 

“He also told everyone who would listen that I slept with him. I got labeled the town slut.” The admission stung. The reputation had clung to her like glitter. It tainted every interaction she had from that day forward in Nibelheim. Boys wanted her. Girls hated her. Adults whispered about her behind her back. And to her father. That had been the worst part, the idea that her father might think anything less than her, after all the love and energy he’d put into raising her. 

“That explains your little cowgirl getup,” he said. She winced. Yes, it did, actually. 

“I figured I might as well play the part,” she sighed. 

“You let that stupid little shit change how people thought of you?” he said drolly. She shrugged. Yes, she had. She’d been so horrified, so humiliated at her loss of control that she’d let him steam roll her reputation. 

She’d rather be seen as skanky than someone to be afraid of. 

The memory faded, and she hugged her arms around herself. She didn’t know what was worse, that she’d shown him this memory, or that he didn’t seem to understand. 

He crossed his arms over his chest, his back straight and his shoulders broad, and narrowed his bright eyes at her. 

“Tifa, how old were you when he did this to you,” he asked. She shook her head. He hadn’t done anything to her, she’d been the one to-

“Fifteen,” she cut herself off. 

“Do you have any idea how many people I killed before I was fifteen?” he asked. 

Of course. No wonder he didn’t understand. Embarrassment twisted in her heart. To show Sephiroth something this small was ridiculous. She shifted uncomfortably under his glare. 

“At least he deserved it,” he said softly. 

She opened her mouth to protest when he interrupted her, “Did I get him?” 

“What?”

“When I burned Nibelheim. Did I kill him for you.” 

She blinked up at him, and closed her dropped jaw. “No, no. He’s alive. His father was a Shinra employee, they moved to Midgar a couple months before. Before you.” 

He uncrossed his arms and patted her shoulder lightly, “Pity.”


End file.
